The Paper Towel Monologues of Mark Cohen
by Nata
Summary: Roger gives Mark a roll of paper towels for Christmas. Funny stuff happens. Post-RENT.
1. Amazing Marky

**December 25th, 5:00 PM.**

Christmas. Received roll of paper towels from Roger as a present, as bastard is too cheap to buy me something. Not that I am; he got a toothbrush.

Hope he takes subtle hint. Doubt this. He ought to end this addiction to Starbucks he has. It is not good for his teeth and I rather like this teeth minus the yellow. Perhaps his stubble makes up for it. Am not sure. He is hot. Not that I care.

And apparently using a roll of paper towels is a social faux pas, as I am informed by Maureen. Perhaps the memo was written on a paper towel sheet and the offender was shot before it could be delivered to me. Intriguing.

Texture on paper towels not good for writing on. Am writing on it anyway, as I have nothing better to do. As I have no inspiration and cannot film for shit today. Knew this. Do not care.

Bounty commercial suddenly stuck in head. Great.

It's better than Musetta's Waltz, though. Why can't he tune his guitar? Or maybe learn to play a new song. Eyes are not a fun subject.

His look like the ocean after a storm, with bits of seaweed and dead fish floating in it. Am waxing poetic, obviously.

Not that I care or anything.

Am straight.

Hope Roger does not find this. Might have to kill myself or cut off his coffee supply. Mimi is getting irritating, too. Perhaps offing her would be ideal, but then she's probably going to die soon anyway. Bitch.

And then Roger will be all mine.

Should cross that out.

Might scare people.

Hee.

**9:47**

Cannot sleep. Using bed as surface for writing on. Not working, as writing looks like chicken scratch. Do not care.

Wish Collins would stop smirking at me.

Wish Joanne would get her hand out of Maureen's shirt.

Wish Roger wasn't such a dumbass. Also wish he would get the newspaper hat off his head, as it does not suit his complexion. At ALL.

Wish Benny was not an asshole.

Wish all my wishes weren't so impossible. But honestly, wearing newspapers equals fashion faux pas.

Think Roger might possibly be drunk.

Roger has just crashed into the coffee table, and is sprawled on the floor.

Cussing abilities evidentially aided by alcohol. Interesting.

Maureen, having torn herself off of Joanne, comes to sit next to me and blow in my ear. I laugh at her. Doubt she can read, so not worried about her finding my dia -- chronicles. Believe chronicles is a stupid word. I should find a dictionary.

Believe the only dictionary is being used to prop up a chair that is like to fall apart and second anyway. Oh well. Perhaps later. A library visit? That would be very risque. Will sleep on it.

Going to sleep, as throwing toothpicks at each other is not high on my list of entertainment. Sorry, Roger.

So much for high class entertainment.

Hello, America.

**December 27th. Morning.**

Ugh. Want to sleep. Cannot sleep. Clock is broken. Go figure, as everything is bloody broken. Broken broken broken fuck you I'm going back to sleep. Ugh.

**Later.**

Had a bit of a piss off there. Can guys get PMS? Well obviously not the same thing but similar? Should ask Collins, ask he seems to know everything.

Maybe tomorrow.

**December 30th. 6:02 PM.**

Asked Collins. Arched his eyebrows at me. He's always doing that. You'd think I'd asked him something strange. Whatever.

Gay people are so weird.

Not that I am.

Because I'm not.

Jeez.

**December 31st. Afternoon.**

Apparently there's to be a party. Oh the joys of being a wallflower and having a horny bastard with an exotic dancer girlfriend for a best friend.

Hate life. Will fix my camera all night. Am excited.

Really.

**Later.**

ahahah i like voddka whoops a stain o wel is not too badd look at the prety fre works oooh hi maureen oh that's definitly not normal


	2. If I Only Had The Nerve

**January 1st. Sometime. **

Never again. Ever.

I think my head is going to explode, not to mention certain other bits.

**Later. **

Do not think that Maureen is quite as lesbian as she claims.

**Later later. **

Definitely did not fix my camera all night. Got drunk.

Don't really remember what exactly happened.

Hope camera was not on when when Maureen was messing around with it. Dear God I hope it was not on.

I'm going to sleep off this fecking hangover. Stupid.

**January 4th. 3:09. **

Decided to take a break from you/this whole paper towel thing for a while. Blame you for what ... happened ... on New Year's Eve because you were there and Maureen must've been able to read over my shoulder. Sucks to be you, doesn't it.

In other news, I went out and filmed today. Was lovely, actually, got a few nice shots. Especially of birds -- Pigeons are pretty, sometimes. With little bits of green and purple mixed in with the gray. Why does there always seem to be one with only one leg? He was violent, too. Tried to attack my lens cap, which was dangling.

Never liked birds anyway.

Prefer cats. Prettier.Would like to get a cat.

Afraid Roger might mistake it for a furry sponge.

... Not that he bathes.

**January 5th. Afternoon.**

Am severely tempted to get a kitty.

Would name it Bruce.

Bruce is a good name for a cat.

**January 6th. 8:00 AM. **

Went out to film documentary again today -- very exciting, trust. Actually I took Collins' advice. Which was very clever, I must say.

He offered to lend me a pair of old rollerskates and use them while filming to get some different shots. The moving kind. With zooms. Better shots of birdies, he said; I thought he meant that I ought to shoot them (like ... with a gunthing) but then realized he meant with a camera. Was slightly dissapointed. Used to it.

Would like to look into learning how to shoot.

Shoot like a girl, according to Roger.

Well Roger screams like a girl, so there. Asshat.

ANYWAY. Rollerskates.

NOT A GOOD IDEA.

Am sporting bruises in unmentionable places. Am aching. Ran into a tree. Twice. Managed to -- miracle or miracles -- save camera from certain death but got some rather queer (I'm NOT.) from some crazy bag ladies. They think I'm weird; well, fuck them! I don't want a man purse anyway. Have a camera back. Different thing entirely, thanks.

Not gucci, anyway.

**Later**

Collins is laughing at me.

Bastard.

**Later again. 11:59**

Do not like Collins anymore. He laughs every time he looks at me now.

Hmph.

**January 7th. Sometime. **

My ass hurts.

**January 10th. Noon.**

Well, Mimi finally croaked.

Roger is a silly (although hot) blonde twat and sulking. Wuss.

**Later.**

Death whining getting old. Will he never get sick of eyes? Bloody git needs to get over that dizzy slut and find himself a new exotic dancer girlfriend. Sans tacky turqoise plastic pants. Ugh.

Would never wear tacky turqoise plastic pants, personally.

Could be an exotic dancer if I wanted.

Really! Am very sensual.

Am not geeky.

**January 21st. Sometime.**

Have spent the past week or so attempting to seduce Roger. He does not realize it. He is still bitching about his 'Sweet darling little beautiful precious lovely Mimi'.

Methinks we ought to get the dictionary from under ... well, where ever the hell it is. Am feeling that his vocabulary needs a pick-me-up.

Sure, his chickfriend is six feet under but, I mean, hey, romance is dead, pal.**Later. **PREVIOUS ENTRY IS KIDDING.

AM STRAIGHT.

So straight I didn't wash my hair today! Beat that.

Hah.

**Ten minutes later**

... Hair is feeling greasy and icky. Omigod.

**Later (again). **

Ought to wash hair. But it would be too straight. Am not queer. Seriously.

I hate everything.

**January 22nd. 9:10 AM. **

Washed hair before Roger woke up.

Can't have him thinking I'm a flamer or anything.

...

Only gay people wash their hair.

AM STRAIGHT.

(Denial is for losers, okay? Am not a loser either.)

**Later. **

Think Roger might suspect the cleanliness of hair. Shit.

**January 23rd. 5:40 PM. **

Acting straight is hell.

**January 23rd. 5:41 PM. **

... Which is not to say that I'm gay or anything. Cuz I'm not.

**January 23rd. 5:45 PM.**

Well maybe a little.

**January 28th. Around eight AM.**

Was forced to hide you for a few days as Roger was getting suspicious as to why I was writing on a perfectly useful roll of paper towels. He doesn't appreciate the fine art of writing, I don't think. Oh well. Can deal. Some things never change.

Talking about his boxers, here.

End this now.

**January 31th. 11:58 PM.**

Roger is drunk.

**11:59 PM**

... is he coming on to me?


End file.
